


Grand Theft... Romantica?

by fishysama



Series: commishies [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, Junjou Romantica
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Body Horror, Breeding, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal Masterminds, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Food Porn, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mpreg, One Shot Collection, Organized Crime, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Pyromania, References to Depression, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: after coincidently meeting drunkard ijuuin kyou, hard-ass criminal mastermind arima tetsuo becomes...  a little less of a hard-ass.a set of 200(ish) word one-shots commission from an anonymous commissioner!





	Grand Theft... Romantica?

It’s a dark night in Tokyo.

There wasn’t too much partying to be done on this chilly, Tuesday evening. But, some bars still have customers clink glasses with joy and take heavy gulps; some vendors still sizzle meat and vegetables on coal-heated grills. The scent of savory meats and pungent alcohol fill the city’s streets with flavor, but no one was there to take it all in.

At least it seems.

A man— his stature small, his face covered, his aura… questionable— takes a sharp turn down such a street. His pace slowly decreases, a barreling sprint to a slow, out-of-breath amble. And then, he comes to a stop, leaning himself against a run-down dive bar. He lifts his hand to his face, sighing deeply.

And then, cackling.

_ Fuck yeah!!! This shit’s getting too easy!!! _ He slaps his groin victoriously, something that would look once again, questionable to a normal pedestrian. But to him, it’s a victory lap. Just below that thin layer of denim was a prized possession: a diamond-encrusted, gold-plated, and universally-treasured pistol.

But now, it was his. All his.

Sure, the heist wasn’t necessarily an imperative one and the stakes were absurdly high, but the reward was simply too great for him to ignore.  _ And when it’s this fucking easy, how could I stop myself? _

Still chuckling, he fishes a cigar and lighter out of his back pocket. He bites off the butt, spits, lights it—

And he’s hit with a wall of flesh and the heavy stench of alcohol. _ Ugh. _ It’s some drunkard, presumably from the bar he’s resting on. He looks like shit.  _ Well, that ruined my good mood. _

“Hey.”

The drunkard doesn’t move, clinging onto his shoulders.

_ “Hey!! _ Get off of me, you bastard—!”

And now, an even worse scent. The drunkard retches.

“...What _the _**_fuck!!!_** Those are new shoes, you scumbag!! You’re gonna be paying for those!!!”

Still, the man does not move. His head dips into the other’s shoulder. Disgusting, pukey breath.

He’s crying.

“...Where do you live?”


End file.
